The Curse of the Creative Mind
by Blacklabel
Summary: There's a pirate, a pretty perturbing pirate, in my head. That, however, is not exactly the problem... so much as getting him out!
1. A Curious Malady

**The Curse of the Creative Mind  
**_gold borrowed from Disney, silver spun by Blacklabel_

_et tu, Narcissus?_

**L**isten carefully to what I am about to tell you. I don't have much time and what time I do have is, even now, slipping away like the sands in the hourglass on my desk. The timepiece, all tarnished brass and cloudy glass, isn't mine. I do not know how it got there—there being the spot beside my smoldering pot of incense—but I do have my suspicions, for you see what I wanted to tell you is that I'm—

It's so quiet in here. It's _too_ quiet. It's the kind of quiet where usually stirs something secret. But as I glance about the lamplit room I see nothing out of the ordinary. The candles are burning steady, the flames not flickering. There is not one volume out of place on the bookshelf and all of the furniture is still. Nothing is unsettled… except me. I listen intently and upon hearing nothing—no echoes nor whispers, not a single breath—I breathe a sigh of relief.

What I wanted to tell you is that I'm cursed.

There is and has been, for quite some time mind you, a pirate stuck in my head. When I say stuck in my head, I don't mean that there's a wee man clodding around in seaboots about the inner workings of my skull, nor scampering up my brainstem. No, there is no miniature scoundrel climbing my cerebral rigging, but I daresay I think it would be far less painful than the grievous situation I find myself in. Far less irritating, far less infuriating—

"Really," interrupts the pirate, "I think you're edging into hysterics there, missy."

I jump. But I shouldn't be so startled. He never really goes very far from me, this pirate called Jack Sparrow—

"Captain," he says, cutting me off right here and now, "that's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow." He winces, and takes a tentative step toward me, face twisting with dismay. "Must I really remind you once again?"

_No_, I find myself thinking in type, _certainly you should not have to remind me. Afterall, it's been how many times_—

"Lost count at three hundred thirty three," Jack puts in nonchalantly, though he looks most unimpressed with me at the moment. "And that was _pages_ ago."

—_that you've corrected me, chastised me, been a complete imbecile on count of it_?

Jack winces again, this time looking much aggrieved. "I hardly think the matter necessitates name calling, love."

Which brings me to what I meant, exactly, by having said that I have a pirate stuck in my head. It is as if the pirate is able to hear what I'm writing when I'm writing it. I assure any who are reading this that he knows what is being typed right—

"Now."

As most can imagine, this particular facet of storywriting is frightfully frustrating. It is indeed one thing to pen characters into their respective places in a story, but completely another to be harrassed, harangued, and—

"Don't exactly recall having ever… _harangued_ you." Jack Sparrow sweeps a hand in the air and shrugs a bit. "Harped upon, perhaps."

Simply put, it's become quite a problem.

"Well now," says Captain Jack Sparrow, flourishing a bit to show off all his flutter and shine, "_that_, my dear Blacklabel, is a matter of perspective."

There is no doubt in my mind that somehow, someway… I was cursed.


	2. The Affliction

**J**ust what I did to deserve it I do not know. All I do know is that Captain Jack Sparrow, rogue pirate extraordinaire, seems tethered to my very fingertips. More oft than not, I find myself typing his words, his arguments, and his nonsensical ramblings—which, for the most part, leave me with more a headache than any sort of philosophical understanding. Crafty thing he is, too, the way he creeps right into my works before I've even the chance to protest!

I suppose, though I am hesitant to make any assumptions about the man, that _that_ is why they call him a rogue pirate extraordinaire.

"Well," he says to me with a flash of a grin, "could be part of it."

In all actuality, the Captain is far less invasive when I'm penning my other works, the ones not pertaining to him. Most usually he only interjects a word or two, perhaps a bawdy phrase. But he is a devil straight from hell with an ire to match when it comes to my pecking out Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic.

"Can't be helped," he says, shrugging a bit. "It's me specialty."

For whatever reason, Jack seems to think I need his guidance when twisting the tales of pirate lore. Though he does invariably remind me to use his proper title, he is mostly mum on that which I make of him. It's the other parts of the story that he protests. For example, he thinks that I cannot find Will's voice—

"The man's not nearly as bad as you make him out to be," Jack insists. He lifts a brow. "Boring yes, but not a buffoon."

I don't think he much enjoys my Elizabeth either—

"Oh no." To that, Jack shakes his head vigorously, beads clacking and baubles jangling. "I enjoy your Elizabeth. You've subdued her quite a bit. For that I must certainly commend your bravery, and extend my greatest gratitude."

And whenever I try to bring in the Commodore—

"That," says Jack, one be-ringed finger in the air, "is the very problem I 'ave with it." Confused I am and so he pokes his head much too close to mine and arches a brow. "No need bringin' Norrington in in the first place."

But James Norrington—

"Puts the yawn in me mouth."

—is—

"Stiff as a board and just as unjustly upright."

—a character necessary to the driving of the plot, a character whose moral obligation is the upholding of the law—

"Which means," Jack cuts in, eyes narrowing dangerously at me, "for all intents and purposes—tryin to stretch me neck!" He points vigorously at the aforementioned part of his body and then slaps the hand on his jutted hip, striking an authoritative pose as he lifts his nose in the air. "And I don't much appreciate it."

There are, apparently, a lot of things that the Captain does not appreciate. I've had to learn the hard way, of course. The hard way, by the way, is suffering an indignant pirate's verbal backlash. That backlash usually consists of a lot of griping, too much grumbling, an exorbitant amount of growling, several hundred curse words, and more insults—a mix of inventive, such as 'bloody bilgeous bile of the basest kind', and the predictable, of which 'wicked, wicked wench' is an example—than a pirate could shake his peg at.

"You know that's blatherskite, don't you?"

Which reminds me to remind the reader that although he oft times gets on my very last nerve, there are some things that I do rather like about Captain Jack Sparrow. One such thing is certainly that there are many words in the man's vocabulary that never fail to amuse me—

"Blatherskite," interrupts Jack as he flips suddenly through a well-worn volume, "is a word what means… a picture of a bunch of bulls…" He frowns at me. "What'd ye do with me _Compendium Vocabularium_, woman?" His gaze flits about the room—about as much as a gaze can flit, really—and lights—again, as much as a gaze can light—on a much bigger, much more worn tome. Breathing an exaltation of glee that sounds too much like _'Gibbs' breath_' to attempt translation, he swishes over to the book, picks it up—or tries to, with difficulty as it's to his knee in thickness—gives up on the picking it up, and kicks it open.

A plume of dust rises in the air. Jack's nose twitches and a great sneeze shudders from it. As the fine shower of mist hangs in the air, he glowers at me, points his finger accusatorily, and narrows his eyes in warning. Then, as he notices that the sneeze has cleared away the dust, he snaps back to action, toeing a line down the page.

For some reason, he comes to a stomp of a stop.

"Blatherskite," he says, imitating the proper droll of Norrington's tone of voice, "is a noun derived from a marriage of Norse and Scots vocabulary. _Blather_ meaning _to talk foolishly at length_, and _skite_ meaning _a contemptible person_, the word 'blatherskite' means either _a person who talks foolishly at length so much that he or she is contemptible_, or, plainly, _contemptible nonsense_—which is, by the way, how I chose to use the word."

With that, the _Compendium Vocabularium_ is toed shut and Jack beams at me. "Go on, then."

Unfortunately, after such a longwinded discertation that was majorly a departure from what it was I was—

"I believe, " says Jack sweetly, "you were just about to lick me boots."

Sometimes, I find, it is best to ignore the pirate as he is, it seems, full to brimming with blatherskite. That said, and as I suddenly forget just what I was going to explain, I should probably mention that the Captain seems incapable of… well, I think I need first mate Joshamee Gibbs in order to best explain it…

"Jack?" Gibbs, appearing out of thin air, peers cautiously at his frowning captain and turns pink around the edges. Fidgeting a bit, he takes a gulp from his flask and chokes. He turns away from Jack and claps the cough out of his chest in order to speak. "True it is that Jack's incapable of tellin a tale without stretchin it tall."

"Just couldn't wait to put yer oar in, now could you?"

Gibbs shoots an apologetic look at his fuming captain—whose fumes are a bit reeking and rank, by the way—and gives a shake of his head. "Duty calls, Cap'n," he says, disappearing before Jack's eyes.

"I do hope," says Jack, "that's nothing to do with a curse."

But it must be. It has to be. What other explanation could there be but that this, all of this, is part of mine own curse, the curse of the creative mind?

"Creative?" Captain Jack Sparrow looks taken aback. "Is that what they're calling the ones with mental maladies these days, then?"

Not for the first time, I am wondering just what brought on this affliction, and if there is any cure or curious manner in which I can lift this curse…

* * *

_**Redberry Greenleaf, **curiosity's always a good thing! Many thanks for dropping a line- and you seem to have learned better than me to address the man the way he sees fit. **Lip Butter, **thank you for your concern ;) I'm not altogether sure Jack wants to leave his ship either!_


End file.
